


Kiss of Death

by chemicalroses



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Angst, Death Star, F/M, I'm Sorry, Implied Relationships, M/M, Madness, Murder, Not really romantic, Sad, SoMa - Freeform, based off of manga, basically a story about how each character dies, mainly broships, non canon backstory, soul star, spartoi mentions, tsustar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicalroses/pseuds/chemicalroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.</p><p>In the end, everyone has the same fate—to rest quiet in the ground with their soul under lock and key behind death’s cold lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss of Death

**Author's Note:**

> If you listen to sad songs while reading this it makes the experience a lot more depressing :)

**MAKA**

Her life consisted of simple things, beginning the first time she wielded Soul. It was feeling the light weight of the weapon in her gloved hands as they collected souls, and the rush of exhilaration pumping through her veins whenever they learned a new technique. It was the adrenaline she craved whenever a risky opportunity had been seized.

Her friends would ask her why she was always so eager to take the leap, or why she never thought things all the way through before acting.

 _“It’s worth it,”_ Would always be the answer that slipped from her lips. There were never any follow up questions.

[ _Her life was a cloud; always focused but quick to turn the whole sky gray._ ]

Her downfall was when her strong belief of self-obtainment overruled her knowledge of common sense.  It was her thought process morphing from a steady flow to an inconsistent drip, until her mindset wasted away under pressure.

It was confusing to her, when everything went wrong. Normally she was able to bag kishin eggs with her eyes closed, but this time she was at its mercy, lying face-down on the ground and choking on her own blood.

 _You can make the jump,_ she had told herself a few minutes before it happened, as she eyed another rooftop across the one she was standing on. Hers was the only approval she needed before taking off into the air and missing the landing by just a few inches, plummeting down until she hit the concrete with a loud _crack_. 

She stayed there, unmoving, for what seemed like eternities until she could vaguely focus on Soul’s mutated body killing the egg and screaming for her to get on her feet and to _do_ _something_.  But her arms wouldn’t move and there was too much blood everywhere, and Soul was leaning over her crippled form howling for help—tears running down his face, yelling and _begging_ for her to wake up while his shaking hand clutched hers so tightly she thought even more of her bones would shatter.

She would’ve squeezed his hand even harder if she had had more time.

**PATTY**

Her life revolved around optimism and lighthearted conversations. Like a clown at a circus, she was all laughs; except this circus was filled with pain instead of elephants or tight-rope walkers. It was her _life_ , her _job_ , to make it all seem small. And she was good at it.

Liz understood her; she knew her and everything she’d seen while living on the streets and during their time at Gallows Mansion. She understood that Patty wouldn’t share any of the dark moments, no matter who asked. No one would, anyway. No one thought to look behind the smiling face and into the soul beneath.

Kid was one exception, though he never pushed either of the girls to vent ever since the first and only time he had tried. Patty’s usual grin had crept onto her face when he’d asked, and she struggled to tell him that he shouldn’t worry about her. The act was convincing up until the part where she had subconsciously started crying.

[ _Her life was a lonely laugh in the middle of the ocean; pretty but unheard._ ]

She was smiling when she died. It was a weak smile, since the pain of being stabbed through the back was a bit distracting, but it was still there and it was still beautiful.

It wasn’t anything the group of three had been expecting—actually, it was the least expected thing to occur, since they had just finished a mission and were walking home when another egg jumped out of nowhere and fished the golden girl away from them. Kid had caught up and killed it in seconds, even with the annoyance of having a lone gun in his hand instead of two.

The injury had been made before they had even reached the egg, and it was so deep and so bad that the only thing Kid could do was make it easier for her, since he knew she was in pain and wasn’t going to heal. Ignoring Liz’s shrieks for him to stop, he ran a hand over the familiar face, closing her eyes, and then placed the kiss of death on her forehead.

Her smile faded.

**SOUL**

His life was focused on making something out of himself. It was noticing a trend and then planning the next one. It was being the hero not just for attention, but for a feeling of self-worth. It was buying a motorcycle to be “cool”, and making jokes that no one ever laughed at.

Of course, he never allowed himself to be _too_ cool, since Black Star would probably throw a fit over him “stealing his spotlight” and Maka would be so overwhelmed that she’d end up chopping him into the sun. That was what he had enjoyed about his life, knowing he had potential and saving it for the effective times. It was like a well-deserved present gifted _from_ himself, _to_ himself.

He didn’t always feel this way, especially not during nightmares. His confidence faded as soon as he saw a devil's silhouette dancing in front of a bleeding moon, preaching about how madness could heal his wounded soul. Darkness would drown him but he’d never die, even when he wished for it. Morning only seemed to come when he let himself fall under the surface; where Crona’s insane eyes guided Ragnarok’s blade across his chest and his soul would fall out of the torn up flesh—smashed into a million tiny pieces.

[ _His life was a song at the end of a playlist; patient and desperate to be listened to._ ]

His demise was similar.

After Maka had died so brutally, the madness was quick to return. He was older now and more experienced with it, but the more he tried to escape, the more difficult the task became. It replaced his blood, flowing through his veins like it belonged. He covered the mirrors in his house to avoid looking at himself—at the man who was a walking menace, the man who hadn’t been able to save his meister when she had needed him most. Anti-depressants didn’t help him feel better. Neither did some of the other methods he tried.

The lowest he had ever gotten was after a week of not sleeping, when he staggered to Black Star’s place at three AM and begged the assassin to _kill_ him, because the madness was strangling him and he couldn’t _breathe_ or _sleep_ or _live_ and _he_ _couldn’t take it anymore._

Black Star had refused and pulled him into his and Tsubaki’s house to rest. Soul knew he shouldn’t fall asleep but he _did_ , right in their guest bedroom. This time, the madness was thicker than ever. This time, he could feel it blocking the airways in his throat.

This time, he didn’t wake up.

**LIZ**

Her life was wasted on trying to survive. It was thinking about the cons instead of the pros. She wasn’t a pessimist; she was just realistic, unlike her sister, who’d throw them both off of a plane without even checking to make sure their parachutes were working. Patty would end up laughing the whole way down. Liz would focus more on the fact that she had just been chucked out of a _flying vehicle_ and would probably die with her hair a mess on the ground below.

Her paranoia’s, some deemed ridiculous by others, limited her. She never attempted the unthinkable. She never set goals for herself.

 _What’s the point_? She’d think whenever something interested her. The excuses she gave herself were acceptable, or so _she_ thought. Kid and Patty usually didn’t think so; based on the disappointed glances she’d receive whenever a complaint slipped past her lips. _Why_ they kept expecting her to go along with some of their crazy plans was a mystery to the older sibling, since they already knew her boundaries.

 _“Why ruin something that's already perfectly fine?”_ She would constantly ask them.

Her miracle had happened years ago, when Kid had fished her out of the street and introduced her to reality. There wouldn’t be another one, so she decided to preserve the wonderful life she was given instead of risk cutting it short. What could she do, anyway? She was only half of a working weapon pair, and with the meister she had working one on one with him was never an option. Deeming herself worthless compared to the other members of Spartoi was pretty easy to do.

[ _Her life was a scream on the tip of someone’s tongue; potentially loud but never carried out._ ]

Her end occurred because of the “ _reasoning”_ she so desperately craved. After Patty had been murdered, Liz had been especially quick to judge. She backed out of missions. She didn’t get out of bed on some days. If she were to go out, something could happen. She was a walking time bomb, and it was just a matter of time before someone else died because of her.

It _wasn’t worth it._

Kid once told her that it was okay to hurt, that it was okay to need time. He was hurting too; she knew that, even though he refused to talk about himself. When she asked, he smiled sadly before telling her that even though you could live your life as carefully as possible, things could still go wrong.

She didn’t talk to him again after that.

It happened a few years after Patty’s death. Liz decided to pay her respects by walking through the city streets they had grown up on. She thought she could handle it, since she had survived there for the majority of her life. 

A man was beating up a lady in a dark alley off to the side, and Liz couldn’t see them but the woman’s screams and muffled cries were enough to give them away. The smell of sweat and blood became noticeable after a few minutes of her standing there, wondering what she could do. The answer would’ve been obvious if Patty were alive: help. _Now_ it was just as obvious since the younger blonde was dead: keep moving. But then she reconsidered.

This was an ordinary man, not a kishin egg, or a witch. She had faced off against worse.

The scene came to an end about as quickly as it had started, with Liz pinned against the alley wall and the guy (who was wasted) pointing a weapon to her temple. How _ironic_ , she thought, that she’d end up in a situation such as this, with a _thug_ threatening her with a pistol. A _pistol_. At least the woman had taken the distraction as a blessing and had taken off as fast as she could.

Liz asked herself if the woman’s life was worth her own. She never had enough time to think up a sufficient answer.

**TSUBAKI**

Her life was lived for the benefit of other people. Since she was young, she had always been the one to open doors, or be the third person walking on a sidewalk made for two. _“Tsubaki the coat-rack”,_ she had overheard people calling her in middle school whenever she ended up being the one doing everyone else’s work. Even though the teases hurt, she kept doing what she always did—which was be polite and not talk back. In a sense, she supposed she _was_ like a coat-rack. People kept piling jacket upon jacket onto her strong handle until the whole thing toppled over, taking the garments with it.

Black Star was the perfect meister for her. She had originally decided this when they had first met, back when he was shorter than her and didn’t know when to shut up. Initially she had decided that while she was busy trying to defeat her brother, she could have someone to look after, like she always did. It surprised her when Black Star didn’t drop her after he had gotten the soul he had been wanting, and instead asked if that was what _she_ had been planning on doing to _him_. Obviously her answer was no.

She lived to put smiles on her friend’s faces. Sometimes there’d be a dark streak, where the world seemed like it was ending and there was no hope. During those times the happiness she brought onto other people was like the oxygen she breathed; it made her feel like she was worth something.

[ _Her life was a grenade disguised as a camellia blossom, pin pulled and petals opened._ ]

Her death wasn’t fair. She was allowed to think that, at least when she was alone. Becoming ill with a terminal illness when she was so young was anything _but_ fair. Black Star had agreed, she had known that before he had even said anything. Cursing and punching a hole through a wall was a strong enough signal.

 _“Tsubaki can’t die like this,”_ He had kept repeating, _“She deserves to die the death of a goddess!”_

She wanted to tell him that goddesses were immortal and never died, but she had understood what he meant.

The months ahead were some of the roughest ones she had endured. Her body was failing her, and she desperately tried to keep up with Black Star but _couldn’t_ without dragging him down with her. She’d never forgive herself if she did _that_ , of all things. His life was worth ten of hers.

The worst part of it, she had decided, was making people around her suffer from her illness. Never-mind her own aching limbs and organs, she was distressed over how Kid couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore or how Black Star had become more aggressive than normal. If any other Spartoi members were still alive, she would’ve probably caused them pain, too.

Time flew by, and soon the monthly doctor appointments condensing into weekly visits, and not long after that she was moved into the hospital permanently. Her treasured long hair had been shaved, and her body was frail and weak; _nothing_ like the powerhouse it used to be. She couldn’t even turn into a weapon anymore. No one really cared about that, though. Black Star only cared about the nonexistent chance she had of surviving, and Kid only cared that she was at least _comfortable_ up until the end.

They were both with her when she flat-lined. She had requested them to be.

 _“I want control over my death,”_ she had said specifically to Black Star, putting her thought process into terms he would understand, _“That way; it won’t be the_ illness _that kills me.”_

The assassin just nodded in solemn agreement and placed a calloused hand over hers.

It was moments like her death in which she appreciated Kid being a reaper, because she’d much rather pass on through her friend then by herself. The Shinigami, being as experienced as he was, knew what she was thinking, which was why he had agreed to the task immediately.

She was lucky, Tsubaki reminded herself, to have lasted as long as she had in such a vicious world.

Her meister’s pained sobs were the last thing she heard before her soul was ripped from her body and taken past the Shinigami’s cold lips.

**BLACK STAR**

His life demanded to be recognized. Whether acknowledgment came from nobodies or gods, it didn’t matter as long as the praise he so desperately desired was obtained.

This obsession with _“being a star”_ had originated from his past. If he could escape the past, he had thought, he could do anything, which was why he tried so hard to be better than all of his ancestors.  Despite his lofty goals, his history was ugly and quick to control him—not because he was afraid of _it_ , but he was afraid of what it meant for _him_.

He had told Tsubaki this once when he had been battling with madness. She had responded saying that his past was now nothing but antiquity, that it didn’t have the power to confine him. What he wanted to tell her was that she was _wrong_ and it _wasn’t_ antiquity. With the blood of a monster pumping through his veins and the madness possessing his brain, he could _feel_ himself losing control.

He didn’t tell her what he truly thought, though. She’d think less of him, everyone would.

During his life he grew angrier and angrier over things other people claimed to be childish. Jealousy, something Black Star claimed he _never_ had, was one of them. Sure, he was recognized as one of Shibusen’s best meisters, but it _wasn’t enough_. He wanted everyone to aspire to be like him, to look up to him as if he were a God—which was why he constantly pined after Kid’s soul like it was more important to him than breathing. He deserved to be viewed as God if he surpassed the original one.

It got annoying, to hear about other people’s achievements and not his own—especially when Maka was the prized tech of the school, for no apparent reason. It was always _Maka_ this and _Maka_ that and _oh, did you see what Maka did today that was so interesting and perfect?_  It made his blood boil, not only because he wasn’t the one holding the focus, but because she was his friend and if she could get so much attention by being mortal and doing stupid things, then why couldn’t he, being the man who would surpass God?

[ _His life was a secluded firecracker going off in the middle of winter; a vibrant masterpiece that was completely misunderstood._ ]

No one thought Black Star would ever die, even though everyone who met him knew that he was human.

Black Star never expected to die either, not in a million years. He’d always be fighting with Shibusen, he thought. No afterlife could hold him; not one guarded by Kid or anyone else. He wouldn’t let himself and all of his hard work be reduced to nothing just by _dying_ , of all things.

Some nights he had thought about taking his own life, to end everything on his own terms and not be taken against his will. He brushed the thought aside every time it came to him, and kept his mind busy by recalling everyone in his life who was still alive and needed him. Over the years, the list grew shorter and shorter. But even so, he still didn’t do it, not even when he had woken up to find Soul dead in his guest bedroom with black blood disgorging from his mouth and eyes. He still didn’t do it after watching Tsubaki’s soul eaten by his best friend, in a medical ward she was never supposed to end up in.

He decided when his life would end years later.

When he was ready, Black Star found Kid in the Death Room, pacing back and forth in front of the many tombstones scattered across the empty space.

 _“Hello, Black Star,”_ The reaper had greeted him solemnly, turning the cracked mask to face in the assassin’s direction. For what seemed like hours, the two of them played small talk—avoiding the real reason why Black Star had come to visit.

_“I’m here to die, Kid,”_

_“I know.”_

The atmosphere walls around them, which Kid had changed to run with the time of day, were now black and misty, with heavy clusters of stars in specific places. Kid had changed the walls so he was more comfortable. He had to be comfortable because this was where he would stay, day after day, night after night, forever. There was no escape for Kid. There was no death.

Therefore, the only way to surpass the reaper was to do the one thing he couldn’t: _die_.

This concept was the reason why Black Star wasn’t afraid, why he wasn’t scrapping his plan and rushing out of the room with his heart beating a mile a minute. He wasn’t afraid when Kid took a step towards him. He wasn’t afraid when two ghostly pale hands lifted the mask to expose the still young face of his best friend. He wasn’t afraid when Kid stopped and said softly, in a tone of voice foreign to the assassin:

_“Thank you for everything, Black Star.”_

Piercing blue eyes gazed into gold ones, and it wasn’t until he felt Kid’s cold lips press against his forehead that he realized _he had done it._

He had won.

**DEATH THE KID**

He didn’t live. He existed. Like his name, he was unoriginal and blindly chosen for no reason. There had been an infinite amount of death gods before, and he was no different from them; that was the vibe he was made to give off.

The only reason why his presence remained on the earth was to do one specific job—kill and collect. The second he was created, he had known this. He didn’t completely _understand_ it, but he knew. It must have been a serious job; he had thought when he was younger. His father, the owner of the face Kid was never supposed to see, was always busy, and left Kid to take care of himself. Ever since his unknown brother Asura had destroyed Lord Death’s sense of trust, keeping Kid protected was his main priority. This was achieved by separating him and the outside world, which would “corrupt” and “ruin” him until he ended up the same way as his brother.

Kid could handle the isolation, he didn’t need food or sleep or any necessities other children needed, plus he didn’t know any other lifestyle. All he could do during the long days by himself was think. He thought about himself, his job, his father, how the painting hanging on the wall was always slanting a little to the right and _he wasn’t tall enough to fix it_. Looking back on it, he supposed he drove himself mad obsessing over the little things, which was why his OCD was created in the first place.

Just because he was immortal didn’t mean he didn’t have flaws, especially since he was technically only the _son_ of a god. The half-sanzu lines stitched onto his head reminded him of this on a daily basis. He could still make a fuss over symmetry, he could get his feelings hurt, and he could bleed. He could do _all_ of these things, like a _normal_ person, just to a lesser extent. He wasn’t an emotionless rock, and why everyone labeled him as such confused him.

Labels, however, could be removed. Kid discovered this when he met his friends. Liz and Patty were the first to treat him differently, not like a high-class prince arriving at a ball-gown event, and when he recruited them he could tell that they thought of him as their _meister and friend_ , nothing more, nothing less. Black Star and Soul also acted contrarily on their first meeting, when they tried to take him down before even holding a conversation. Kid knew this was only _because_ of his godly nature, but it was still refreshing to see others recognizing the fact that he was, in fact, a kid like them, only a little more depended on. Maka and Tsubaki, as well as some of the other students, needed some convincing before they truly accepted him as an equal.

[ _His life was a broken clock that refused to read the perfect time, but kept ticking anyway._ ]

He didn’t die. His existence was everlasting, if not in _his_ body, than in the son’s he’d one day create. It wasn’t always pleasant to think about, there were often times where he wished he could end it all.

Then again, he _was_ dead. He was dead, but existing.

He had “died” many times in his existence, he felt. Each of his friends took a piece of his soul with them as they left; metaphorically of course, though Kid often felt a hole in his heart when he thought back to when they were alive.

Once he had asked Soul what souls tasted like, since he knew once he took his father’s place he’d have to consume and store them. The scythe didn’t waste time pondering the question, and answered that they didn’t have a particular flavor.

 _“It’s mostly the texture, going down.”_ He had said. Kid relied on Soul’s answer whenever he found himself worrying about the future, forgetting about how weapons consumed _kishin eggs_ and _witch_ souls, and a reaper had to eat _human_ ones. Human souls didn’t have a flavor or a texture.

The thought of eating innocent souls wasn’t the only thing that scared him; it was also the fact that he would one day have an entire world to control. The answer had been obvious at first: make it balanced. It had changed once he got a taste of the madness while being trapped in the book of Eibon.

Lots of other things changed after that. The Kishin, his brother, had been isolated alongside Crona. Not long after simple changes occurred, like the other guys starting to shave their faces and get taller. They sometimes made fun of Kid, who didn’t age and whose body prevented him from growing any extra hair.

He had stopped aging at some point during his twenties, but he didn’t remember what year. During that time, he had other things distracting him rather than how old he was.

Maka died. That death was the one that shook Kid and made him realize that he not only had to rob _strangers_ of their lives, but he had to take his friends’, too. It was especially painful when they died unexpectedly, when neither Kid nor the person was ready. He didn’t think that was fair. Even though he voiced his complaints to himself when he was alone (anyone who heard would think he’d lost it), people kept dying, and he kept collecting.

His soul began to numb as he lost track of how many soul’s he had pilfered. All he did was sit and address the Academy when necessary, reliving the moments where he had flourished. He no longer responded to the name “Kid”, since it was so unfamiliar—everyone now had begun to address him after his father, and he didn’t correct them.

The wish to be normal increased with time until it was so unbearable that he tried creating a new generation so he could disappear like his father did. None of the attempts worked since he hadn’t spent enough time on earth yet. Even if he had succeeded, he would’ve just been moved into his son’s body to start over.

All he wanted was for this torture to _end_. He wanted to leave this world, the world filled with tall buildings and concrete, rogue kishin eggs, madness induced devils, thugs that shot first and asked questions later, illness... The list kept growing.

There were, despite the many differences, things that never changed. For example, Kid had always been one step ahead of Black Star, which was why he had known about his request to die before the assassin told him. When the words actually came out of Black Star’s mouth, Kid felt himself sinking. He knew he’d end up reaping him and he knew he’d be _alone_ after that, with nothing but memories to connect him with who he used to be. Still, he killed him quickly and without a second thought.

Black Star’s body had landed on the ground with a _thump_ , signifying the victory he’d been fighting for had finally been achieved.

Kid stood there, staring at him for what seemed like days, because he could not believe that he was dead—that _he_ had _killed_ him.

He was sad; sad because he _loved_ the boy lying motionless on the ground. He had loved _all_ of his friends, and all of the time they spent together back when he was considered their equal. It hurt now, to think about it. He’d much rather give his friend a proper burial outside in the pouring rain at two in the morning.

Kid felt himself becoming disoriented as he tossed lumps of dirt over the king sized coffin. His mind was foggy and all he could think about was how _he missed them and he missed who he used to be and he even missed that lonely room with the crooked painting hanging on the wall._ He wished he could bring himself to _feel_ something again, like a sense of morals, because the way his emotions cut off whenever he executed someone _scared_ him. _He had the power_ to kill anyone he wanted.

The turmoil in his head kept getting louder, and the sick feeling in his stomach grew until he made himself make a decision.

He wasn’t who he used to be; that kid was gone. As he trudged back to his Death Room and away from the body he used to know, he let himself go. The past he cherished deserved to be freed, as well as the personality he tried to maintain.

As far as he was concerned, Death The Kid was dead. 

**Author's Note:**

> I actually love all of these characters... I just also love angst.


End file.
